Ah, The Irony of Fate
by shade-of-lily
Summary: A young girl escapes Azkaban and comes to Hogwarts: Sirius is in for the shock of his life, Harry is freaked, Ron and 'Mione are suspicious, and everyone has secrets...better than it sounds, please read! No MarySues.
1. Chapter 1

New fic, new characters, new plot...on with the show! Now re - edited.

Disclaimer: Gemma is an original...I don't own any HP characters...well, I do have Sirius tied up in my bedroom, but that doesn't count...does it? ..: checks in huge leather book:.. Nope, I'm clean. Right, here we go...

* * *

"They're coming," Gemma whispered hoarsely, leaning over to a crack in the stone wall behind her.

"Surprise!" a man's voice responded from the other side of the wall.

"Oh, shut up, you," she said. "This is your chance. Go now, before they get here!" Her slender body shivered eerily, as if from some chill she was anticipating.

"Come with me. You can't stay here, they'll kill you!"

"Thank you, Dr. Black!" she gave a humorless laugh. "At least this way one of us gets out. You know I can't- they're getting closer. Go. Go now!"

"..."

"Please, Sirius! Do it for Remus, for Harry!"

"..."

"Please!"

"Fine. I'll go. Promise me one thing, though; don't die, Gem. For me?"

"I'll do my best. For you. Take care...and good luck." With that, both cells fell silent.

Gemma could faintly hear the sound of padded footsteps, a slithering sound, more footsteps, and then the clang of a door.

Just before the shadow - cloaked figures reached her barred door, she heard a splash.

For the first time in over two years, she grinned.

And as her screams of despair joined those already filling the air, something remarkable was going on.

Somewhere outside the fortress she was being held in, a mangy black dog swam weakly towards the mainland, headed home.

0o0o0o 6 Months Later 0o0o0o

"Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me..." Gemma sang softly to herself, rocking back and forth in an attempt to ward off the invading cold.

The prison of Azkaban was always cold, even at the height of summer; the soul-sucking dementors made sure of that.

Gemma had awoken that morning covered in frost, with numb hands, feet, and a bright bluish-tinged face.

After warming and waking up, she had examined the rows of tally marks on the wall next to her; August 17.

Gemma honestly hadn't thought she'd make it this long in Azkaban; two whole years in hell.

The stone walls surrounding her gave no sign of birthday cheer; bleak and cold, their gray surface only furthered the air of despair inside the cell.

It was nearly pitch black; the only light coming into the cell originated from the barred window in her door, torchlight that flickered weakly because of the ever-present drafts.

Gemma herself gave off the same feeling as her surroundings: misery and desolation.

The jeans and navy polo shirt she had been thrown in with were torn and ragged. Her raven-black hair was streaked grey with grime and dust. Gemma's starved body was covered with small cuts and scratches, mostly self inflicted. The sight of scarlet blood welling up out of her skin was harmless, and it helped ease the hunger pangs.

It was one of the tricks Sirius had tought her during their lengthy discussions through the crack.

The prisoners were fed three times a week, two cups of water and a slice of bread. Gemma's inner right wrist bore a tattoo etched in silver rune shaped like a capital Y with a horizontal line through the center of the stem and a circle around the whole thing.

Her eyes, grey and piercing sharp, seemed to be the only things unaffected be her long-term confinement in Azkaban.

They were her one noticeable feature, the thing that would have made her stand out at Azkaban, if anyone had cared to look.

That, and the fact that she was now the only innocent prisoner on the whole island.

As she traced the silvery rune, which had also been branded into the hollow of her slender throat, Gemma was startled out of her thoughts by the sound of dragging robes and rattling breaths.

The dementors had come to give her birthday present.

_Lucky me._

Closing her eyes in resignation, she leaned back against the wall, running a grimy hand through equally dirty hair.

Breathe in, 1, 2, 3, out, 1, 2, 3, in, 1, 2, 3, out...she had learned, over the past two years, that repeating this mantra helped keep her from blacking out, if the dementor was weak.

She hadn't needed it at first, but as time went by, prolonged exposure to the dementors made it necessary.

In, 1, 2, 3, out, 1...as the dementor came closer, leaning in towards the barred door, the visions began.

0o0o0o

An 11 year old Gemma sat in the center of the Wizengamot courtroom. It was a small hearing; Fudge had wanted to keep it quiet, to 'prevent any unnecessary public panic.'

What he really meant was that he didn't believe that the Dark Lord was back, and didn't want anyone to become suspicious and attempt to convince him that You-Know-Who had indeed returned.

The judge stood up from his podium near the front of the courtroom.

"Gemmaline Brighton. You have been charged with three counts of using two Unforgivable Curses, and one count of first degree murder. You have been sentenced to four life sentences, to be served out in Azkaban Fortress. Because of your youth, the Ministry has been moved to mercy, and will spare you the Kiss. Have you any last words before court is dismissed?"

Gemma looked around the room, ignoring the bite of cold steel numbing her wrists and ankles.

Her desperate gaze met only scorn and hatred; no matter what the judge said, she would find no mercy here.

"No, your Honor."

Seemingly incised by her lack of remorse, the judge practically snarled the verdict.

"See if you can keep quiet in Azkaban, Brighton! Take her away!"

As Gemma was dragged bodily from the courtroom by two guards, kicking, biting, and scratching, the scene faded to black.

PLEASE REVIEW! Flames go to feed the hamster...after being read, of course. Criticism is appreciated. New thingy (for lack of a better term): when you review, please give me one or more suggestion that I can use to improve my writing style or story. Thank you!


	2. Chapter 2

1A/N: Ok, I re-edited this one mostly for spacing, but there are a few changes...there's some gore in here, be warned. It was fun to write (LOL).

Disclaimer: Not mine (officer).

* * *

A slightly younger-looking Gemma halted her progress washing a greenhouse window, staring through the glass at a school across the street. The weather outside was gray; as she watched, a storm gathered overhead. 

She sighed wistfully before returning her attention to the window.

As the day wore on, the sky continued to darken, and just as she finished the windows it began to pour. She stumbled outside, leaving the greenhouse door banging in the wind.

Making for the door to the house closest to the greenhouse, Gemma attempted to open it; as expected, it was locked. Her father grinned cruelly at her through a window, before slamming the shutters in her face. Gemma shrugged to herself, having predicted all of this; besides, she would rather be outside right now.

Some food would have been good, too, but that was more than she could hope for at the moment. The Powers That Be were giving her her favorite type of weather and plenty of time to enjoy it; Gemma decided to make the best of the situation.

Spotting an old garden trellis leaning against the house, she hurried over to it and quickly scrambled up to the gutter. Clambering over the edge of the roof, she settled herself against the brick chimney, letting the water soak her from head to toe. Soon her hair was plastered to her face and she was shivering, but Gemma didn't care.

She was too caught up in the storm.

Absently untying the scarf wrapped in her hair, she tossed it into the air, watching as the wind contorted it and swept it off to unknown places, disappearing from her sight.

This image, too, faded to black, until a new one replaced it.

Standing in the center of the living room, pointing her wand at her dead father.

Gemma's eyes were filmed over, covered by a whitish sheen, but as the door slammed open, they cleared, showing confusion and bewilderment.

She had enough time to open her mouth and say, "Wha-" before at least ten Ministry-trained Aurors piled on top of her, Stunning her within the instant.

This vision flared into a blinding white; pain filled her head, a stabbing throb that was everywhere at once and made her scream in agony.

Images flickered past her unseeing eyes.

A black-haired man lying next to a red-haired woman on the floor of a nursery illuminated by the flames licking up its walls.

A street full of bodies, silent but for the sound of a single man laughing…a laugh that was somehow familiar.

A small, desolate cupboard with a spider dangling from the ceiling.

A tiny glass ball breaking on a marble floor, and smoke rising from it.

A familiar castle crumbling and in flames, bodies strewn everywhere.

And finally, not a picture, but a sound, a boy's screaming layered over the castle in ruins.

The sound went on and on and on and on…Gemma's eyes snapped open, darting around the cell wildly.

Slender hands scrabbled on the stone floor as she searched (on and on and on and on) for the rock she used to mark her calendar.

Finding it quickly (and on and on and on and on), she began to sharpen it on the stone wall.

_I can't take this…need to get out…_(and on and on and on)_ make it stop makeitstop makeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstop…_without hesitating, Gemma brought the rock down onto her wrist and dragged it towards her body, gouging deep into her skin.

Switching hands, she did the same to her other wrist.

And again…(_on and on and on and on)_ anything to get out.

Soon the blood was gushing out, flowing down her palm to her fingertips in rivulets.

The rock became too slippery to hold, and slid from her grasp with a clatter.

It was funny, she thought detachedly, how the cell around her was fading quickly, but the screaming was still as loud as ever.

Slipping sideways down the wall, she muttered, "Sorry Sirius. I just couldn't…"

The cell before her, dim to begin with, flickered once and vanished into a wall of solid black.

**"Hey. Hey you. Mortal. Hellllo?"**

"Whassamatta?"

**"Oh, for Circe's sake…WAKE UP!"**

"Ahh! Ahh! Ahh, get off me, I'm up! What's with all the name calling and slapping? Ow. Ahh!"

**"Oy vay,"** muttered the voice. Opening her eyes, Gemma surveyed her surroundings. It was…black. Very black

"Am I…dead?" she asked, suddenly wide awake.

**"In a matter of speaking, yes. You see, human, there are nine levels of the afterlife. Or death, heaven, hell, call it what you will. You are merely floating on top, in the first layer. Most mortals sink straight to level nine. But some, like yourself, get detained for some reason or other. You will not be permitted to pass on for one reason: it is not yet your time. You will return to the world above until you complete your appointed task."**

"All right, then. I must be completely hungover…"

**"Believe what you will, but fate will catch you up."**

"Wait! Can you at least give me some advice, sir?" Gemma called out desperately, feeling the man's (thing's?) presence beginning to fade.

**"Well, since I like you…trust the water, trust your talents, and trust your friends. Vengeance is sweet, but too much sugar turns the best dish sour. Also, never wear a belt over a tucked-in shirt. It's tacky, and it always will be. Cheers!"**

With that, the blackness fell silent, and Gemma felt utterly alone.

Not for long, though…a white light came into view, speeding closer and closer to her, until it engulfed her completely.

* * *

Gemma opened her eyes blearily. 

She felt like she'd been hit by a train.

Come to think of it, it was quite possible that she had been.

Bit by bit, she took stock of her surroundings.She appeared to be in the bed of a pickup truck, resting on something soft and lumpy. Looking down, she stifled a shriek.

Beneath her lay countless bodies, bumping and jostling each other as the truck thundered along.

Once her heart rate had calmed down to something nearing normal, she realized that she must be en route to the mass graves of Azkaban, where deceased prisoners were buried in large holes.

Not exactly her desired destination.

Wincing as she stepped on various body parts, and trying to avoid the faces, Gemma clambered over to the tailgate of the pickup.

Pushing herself carefully over the edge, she landed on the ground with a painful thump. She waited until the pickup was out of sight before standing up and dusting herself off. Staring off into the distance, she contemplated her next move.

Gemma had, somehow, accepted the guardian's (she had neglected to ask his name, or what he was, but this name seemed to fit) words, and had resolved to keep her ... death ... to herself.

Who was she to complain?

Maybe she could find Sirius again…he had been her friend and mentor during her stay in Azkaban, and she missed him.

Gazing at the horizon, she made up her mind; Azkaban was an island; the guards lived there, and the prisoners were transported by authorized portkey.

There was no way off, save death.

And she had already tried that one.

The only other possibility was to jump off, into the water, and swim for it.

Suddenly, her mind made the connection: Trust the water…the guardian had been telling her to jump!

Walking westwards and encountering no guards, thankfully, Gemma made her way to the shore of the island.

Standing at the peak of a tall escarpment that fell away directly into the sea, Gemma balanced there for a moment.

Then she jumped.

Immediately, her head was sucked under the water. Panicking, she fought her way upwards through the icy waters. Floundering to the surface, she gasped for air and spluttered as a wave filled her mouth with briny water. Reorienting herself, she noted the thin gray shadow on the horizon and struck out for land.

0o0o0o

Gemma floated on her back, letting the water carry her where it would.

She was just too tired; she couldn't think straight.

The swimming had been two strokes forward, one stroke back.

So exhausted…the waves, which had seemed so hostile mere hours before, now seemed gentle, caressing her beaten body, luring her into soft, sweet sleep…

* * *

Opening her eyes, Gemma quickly grimaced and shut them again. 

Bright midday sun pierced her eyelids, sending pain lancing into her skull.

Rolling over on her side, she coughed up seawater onto the sand.

Scrambling to her feet, she was rewarded with a burst of agony and a flare of white.

When the light cleared, she looked around warily.

She must have fallen asleep while trying to battle the waves.

The churning water had tossed her up onto this beach.

Gemma felt surprisingly awake and refreshed.

As she squinted into a marvelously colored sunset, she mentally reviewed her to - do list.

It was relatively short.

One: find wand.

Two: clear name.

Three: find Sirius.

She sighed; none of them would be easy, and they would all be impossible if she didn't find out where exactly she was.

A/N: So..re - edited that one mostly for spacing. REVIEW PLEASE!


	3. Chapter 3

Two years later, Gemma stood, fidgeting, in front of Albus Dumbledore's cluttered desk.

The strange clickings and whirrings of the various contraptions in the office and the whisperings of the portraits combined to grate horribly on her already frayed nerves, but she stayed silent.

The old wizard looked at her appraisingly over the top of his half - moon spectacles. Her mentor, Blair Flourish, put a hand on her shoulder reassuringly, and Gemma relaxed a bit. Her mind went back to the last two years, a flurry of training and education and personal liberation.

**She had wandered the English countryside for months, stealing clothes and food from various farmhouses as she passed them. **

**Originally she had felt a guilty twinge each time she did so, but it was fair, she thought; I have little, no, less than that, and they have much. Besides, she always payed them back somehow; de - gnoming their gardens if the residents were away for a long period of time, or leaving a written 'thank - you' in coal on the kitchen table. **

**She had scraped by for weeks, until she worked up the nerve to ask an elderly couple how to get to London. She didn't want to be recognized, but she had no way to clear her name out in the country, and until she cleared her name, she had nothing; no identity, and no allies. **

**She had reached London two weeks later, stowing away on the back of a farm truck, and entered Diagon Alley behind a group of twittering woman who scrupulously ignored her. **

**She didn't blame them; she looked a wreck, Gemma knew, but there was no way to improve her condition at the moment. **

**She was only 13; hopefully, her age would fool people into believing her innocent. Her goal in Diagon Alley had been simple: get a wand, get out, find shelter. **

**She walked into Ollivander's wand supply; she had been imprisoned in the summer after her first year, so she had only seen the shop once. **

**She remembered that it's caretaker had been old; that and the fact that it was the only wand supplier to all of Britan compelled her to enter the establishment.**

**Gemma was counting on the hope that he wouldn't realize who she was; although her case hadn't been public by any means, it was still a large risk to take. But there had been no other way. As soon as the door closed behind her, she felt a wand pressing at the nape of her neck. **

**So much for that idea. **

"**Ah, Miss Brighton, I presume? I've been expecting you, my dear. The Minister warned me you might be stopping by." **

**The pressure from the wand disappeared, and Gemma spun around to face the voice.**

"**Although, as I don't particularly like Minister Fudge, you are in no danger of being turned over to him," said Ollivander, staring at her without blinking.**

**Creepy.**

"**However, you cannot stay here. I have made arrangements for you to stay with a trusted friend until the time comes when you can safely show your face on the streets of London again. I myself am too well - watched, and these are dark times, dark times indeed," he mused, half to himself. **

**Gemma, who had been silent, first in relief, then in fear, and now in shock, spoke up. "So - so you think - you don't think I did it?" **

**She was annoyed at herself for how childish her voice sounded, but at the same time, an ally would be priceless, and to find one so unexpectedly...**

"**Of course not, my child," the aged wizard said, waving a skeletal hand carelessly. "Imperious curse, obviously! But then, of course, Fudge never did have the mind to see beyond his wand. 10 inches, Alder tree, grindylow tendon core, by the way. A creature as stupid, grasping, greedy, and ugly as our esteemed Minister himself. Now that's what you'd call ironic. Although perhaps not so much; the wand chooses the wizard, you know. Makes me wonder what yours will be," he said pensively, guiding Gemma into a back room. **

**She followed without complaint; he could have stunned her long before now, and he hadn't. **

**Plus, she needed a wand.**

Now, nearly 24 months later, she stood, feeling the wand's weight settled in the back pocket of her dark blue denims ('Who d'you know who's lost a buttock?" the violet-haired woman asked Moody interestedly' LOL).

14 inches, rowan wood, a Dog of the Damned's hair for the core.

Even now, the thought made her smile grimly; _the wand chooses the wizard._

Now that's what you'd call ironic; the Dogs, sometimes called the Hounds of Hell, were a force to be reckoned with.

Of course, they also had flames for eyes and generally foamed at the mouth.

Gemma resisted the urge to look in a mirror.

**After being fitted for her wand and being reassured that it was completely free of charge, she had been informed that the 'friend' Ollivander had arranged for her to stay with lived three shops down from his own; Mr. Blair Flourish, owner of Flourish and Blotts bookstore. **

**His partner, Blotts, having died in the last war, Flourish had run the shop alone ever since. **

**He was an avid reader, and had filled the post of Hogwarts' DADA professor a number of years ago, until every other member of his family was killed in a single Death Eater raid during the First War. **

**He had quit the position after only a year of service (that damn curse again), and opened the bookshop with John Blotts, his long - time friend from his schooldays. They had lived there in a small apartment above the shop until John died in a Death Eater raid on the Alley during the First War.**

**Now, though, he was more than a simple bookseller: he was a respected, if relatively unknown, member of the Order of the Phoenix. **

**But then, secrecy was imperative to the cause. **

**He had agreed to take Gemma in out of the kindness of his heart; he was to each her all the subjects she needed to know to return to Hogwarts. **

**It would be hard work, but as there would be no summer break or weekends and Flourish was an accomplished professor, he felt sure that he could pull it off. **

**He was a strange man; the losses he had suffered would have made anyone else in his position bitter and resentful. **

**Instead, they built a thirst for revenge in his heart, and a need for justice in his soul. **

**Gemma had spent nearly two years with the man, catching herself up on three years of missed classes. **

**She respected Flourish for his intellect and innate sense of fairness, and he returned the feeling, holding her in high regard for what she had come through. **

**He didn't know what, exactly, had happened to tun this young girl into a hollow shell, but he knew enough. **

**Flourish had resolved to give her back some semblance of a normal adolescent life, although this was nearly impossible, as she was not allowed outside of the spelled rooms behind the bookshop.**

**She grew to love Flourish as the father she had never had, and he to care for her as well. **

**She knew various members of the Order; Ollivander and Flourish had assumed (correctly) that she was to be trusted. **

**After being incarcerated in Azkaban for years, she was hardly about to join the group that had put her there; besides, she did not know who was in the Order, only the few members who stopped by the shop, and didn't know their plans (excluding, of course, stopping Voldemort). **

**So she applied herself to her studies, studiously not thinking about the day, if one would ever come, when she would be free. Flourish, too, tried to forget his young charge was a convicted criminal. And he mostly succeeded. **

**Except for, that is, the day Flourish was walking back to the shop with a cone of Florean Fortescue's best InvisiIce, cherry flavoured, for Gemma. **

**His attention was caught by a poster flapping erratically in the wind, adhero - spelled onto a peeling bulletin board in the center square of Diagon Alley. **

**Heart beating loudly in anticipation (for it already knew what the paper read, even if his mind hadn't quite caught up yet) he approached the board in trepidation. **

**His eyes scanned the page quickly, widening when they got to the end. **

**He snatched it off the board and dashed the rest of the way to his shop, grinning like mad. **

"**GEMMA! GEMMA, LOVE!" he called into the shop, dancing in a circle. **

**An old witch, browsing the cooking section, edged carefully away from the seemingly insane shopkeeper.**

**In the back room, bent over a bubbling cauldron, Gemma straightened, brow furrowed in confusion. **

**Blair had never called for her before; they would both be arrested if anyone discovered she was there. That must mean...**

**She ran out into the main room. "Have they..."**

"**They have!" Blair said, picking her up and spinning her in a circle. The elderly witch dropped her books on the floor and backed towards the door. **

**When Flourish had set her down on the floor gently, Gemma dropped into a nearby armchair. "I don't believe it," she said faintly, eyes wide. "Are you sure?"**

"**Sure as sugar, honey!" Flourish said, calming down a bit. **

**And that had been that. **

**Gemma had been dropped off at the Ministry, to get an official pardon and payment for the years she had spent in the company of the dementors. **

**On her way out, she caught sight of a worried - looking young boy, her own age, with messy black hair and bright green eyes disappearing into an elevator, pursued by a flock of paper planes. **

**She recognized him from her first year at Hogwarts...Harry Potter. But what was the Boy - Who - Lived doing in the Ministry of Magic?**

**Dismissing the thought from her mind, she focused on the more exciting issue: she was free.**

**She immediately fire - called Blair to let him know that she was cleared, and asked to go out on a foray into Muggle London. **

**Having received her caretaker's approval (he had been licensed as her legal guardian with the release papers), she set off. **

**She needed a new wardrobe.**

**Four hours later, she returned to the bookshop, arms laden with bags. **

**With jeans, long - sleeved tees, underwear, socks, shorts, a jumper, make - up, Muggle CDs, and a great number of other things, she felt content. **

**For some reason, understandable, perhaps, because of her history, most of the clothes were darker colours. **

**Her favorite purchase was her Vans sneakers; canvas with black and white checkers, they were comfortable and cute. **

**Changing quickly, she slipped them on and headed out into the wizard - filled Alley, she sighed, jingling the money she had recieved from the Ministry in her pocket. **

**Four hours after _that_, she returned to the shop, happier than she had been in a bit. **

**School robes, cauldrons, potions ingredients, and other school - related items filled her pockets, shrunken magically. **

**She had bribed an old man in Knockturn Alley to do an underage piercing, and now had pierced ears, as well as studs in the upper part of her ears. **

**It had stung like hell, but it was worth it, she thought, looking in the mirror over her dresser. Smiling broadly at Flourish's exuberance at his 'daughter's' new appearance, and her new haircut (she had decided that the 'ex - convict' fringe she had aquired wasn't quite her look, and had gotter it cut to just above her shoulders), she went down the street to let Ollivander know she was free. **

**That was two items from her list checked off. All she needed to do now was find Sirius.**

A week later, she stood in front of Dumbledore's desk.

"Yes, I think you'll do quite nicely. We'll keep you in your old house, if that is permissible, and you'll be studying as a fifth year, as your studies appear to be up to par. Bravo on that, by the way, " spoke the Headmaster after a moment of silence. "And congratulations on your liberation. Welcome to Hogwarts, Miss Brighton. Lemon Drop?"


End file.
